Devaar Got
by Slim
Summary: My first warhammer ficcay! Tell me what you think after plz, and tell your friends who like warhammer about it aswell plz! I'll email anyone who wants to know when I have uploaded the new chapters. Enjoy!


Disclaimer/Claimer: Although Warhammer is obviously not my idea, I have made up the main character and story. Enjoy the ficcay, don't be too harsh on what you say about it please because I'm a first timer at doing a Warhammer ficcay. Enjoy!  
  
Devaar Got-Background info. As a small child, Devaar wasn't an exceptionally welcomed person. The guards disliked his erie presence and he was the victim of constant bullying from other tribe members. As he grew older, he got to know another outcast of the tribe rather well. An old man who constantly rambled about bloddy, past wars that he had seen.  
  
Devaar soon found himself staying with the old man as if he were his dad. When he was sixteen, there was a terribly harsh winter. A strange blizzard from the chaos wastes hit the tribes hard. The tribes were thrown into turmoil and bitterly fought each other to get at what little food they could. The Got tribe were thrown into battle with hungry, blood thirsty marauders.  
  
The Got tribe fought terribly to defend their land and food, many men of the tribe were lost and it seemed as though defeat was inevitable. Devaar was protected by the old man to his best abilities.  
  
Devaar watched as the old man was cut down by a giant marauder of the opposing tribe. Tears drowned his eyes and anger filled his heart. He felt his insides screaming in agony, begging for revenge. Devaar ran out of his hiding hole and hoisted up a giant, double edged axe that had been dropped by one of the tribe's guards. With all his might he threw the momentum of the charge into a great giant swing of the axe.  
  
The crippled maruader felt the blow smash into his left side and he hit the floor, in a pool of blood. Devaar looked at the dead body that was now on the cold floor infront of him which was drowning in a sea of blood. He looked calmly to his right, to see the other fierce attackers still hacking relentlessly at the Got tribe's guards.  
  
With a shriek of a battle cry he charged fiercely at them, swinging the axe down upon another unlucky marauder, cleaving him from head to toe. The guards of the tribe saw this and was rallied forward with great spirit. A thirst for more blood filled Devaar.  
  
With the guards spirred for battle by the onslaught of the young warrior, the marauders were beaten back, only a few of fifty escaping with their lives, most probably to lose their lives somewhere in the chaos wastes. Devaar was cheered by the tribe and respected from then on.  
  
A few years later, when Devaar reached the age of nineteen, he had gained a lot of respect from the flourishing tribe after leading many brave men on plenty of successful hunting missions to other tribes, returning home with vast amounts of food and gold. In that summer, the leader of the tribe suddenly died. According to the tribes rules, the three most respected people of the tribe were to be elected to challenge for the right to lead the tribe.  
  
Devaar, was one of these. The grand fight took place in a large field, just outside the tribes boundries. Devaar stood, staring eagerly at the two enemies that he was about to fight. He knew deep down that the two would try to deal with him first as he was easily the most dangerous man of the tribe. He let out his battle cry and charged at the closer of the two.  
  
His great axe swung down, the victim, Gurman, managed to somehow parry the devastating attack. A swing to the right just sliced Gurman's stomach. Blood started to drip down his armour. By now, Tarnet, the other contender had got to the action. He had sneeked up behind Devaar.  
  
He thrust his sword, Devaar just managed to dodge the attack in time, swinging his axe at Tarnet and sliced his hand off.Tarnet was now weaponless, another great swing of the axe made sure that Tarnet wouldn't become a threat again by severing his head from his body.  
  
He quickly turned his attention to Gurman, who was holding his stomach with his left hand, while swinging his battle axe down . Devaar jumped back just in time to evade the attack. The axe stuck firmly in the floor. Gurman struggled to free it. It was futile. Crying out in pain for his gashed stomach, as he tried to free it.  
  
Devaar raised his axe above his head with both hands. He muttered some words that Gurman only just made out, "Pain is weakness." With which, Devaar striked down with his axe, catching Gurman on the back of the head. The axe stuck in the floor, with Gurman's head by each side. Blood was polished on the axe and Devaar stood proud of his victory. He removed the axe with ease from the blood stained floor.  
  
The axe seemed to drain the blood that was on it, until not a single drop of blood was left on it. Devaar turned, and walked back to the tribe, as the victor, as the crowd gazed in awe at the power of their new leader. 


End file.
